


Clouds in My Coffee

by DizzyDrea



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, F/M, First Time, Romance, Wesen Behaving Badly, Wesen Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1917873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyDrea/pseuds/DizzyDrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Nick flinched when his (very female) boss woged, and one time he didn't (not much, anyway).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clouds in My Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> I've been tossing this idea around for a while, but it never quite coalesced until now. Basically, it's just what it says on the tin. The title comes from "You're So Vain" by Carly Simon, for obvious reasons. Takes place sometime after 2.13 _Face Off_ (and therefore goes AU after that). Also, I'm posting this on a Monday because it was just too damned hot this weekend to even _think_ about turning on the computer.
> 
> I used [this picture](http://www.imdb.com/name/nm2680758/mediaviewer/rm2716518144) of Italia Ricci as my inspiration for girl!Sean.
> 
> Disclaimer: Grimm is the property of NBC, Universal Television, GK Productions, Hazy Mills Productions, Open 4 Business Productions LLC and a lot of other people who aren’t me. I am doing this for fun and for practice. Mostly for fun.

**1**

The first time Nick Burkhardt sees his Captain woge, he's understandably rattled.

Probably a bit more than rattled, but he's not going to admit to any more than a flinch, despite the fact that the sight of a _hexenbiest_ still makes his stomach turn and his skin crawl.

He's known Siobhan Renard for five years, and nothing she's done in that time has given even the slightest hint of _other_. Of course, he hadn't even known there _was_ an _other_ until a year ago, but he thinks maybe he should have known she's been keeping a secret at least.

Still, when she woges into a _hexenbiest_ during the fight at the serial killer _blutbad's_ cabin, it's the last thing he expects. His first instinct is to recoil; he has to clamp down on the fight or flight instinct and really listen to what she's saying. 

Turns out there's more than one interested party chasing after the key, and he's just become part of something so much larger than he's ever imagined. He's angry—of course he's angry—that she didn't feel the need to let him in on her big secret until now, and he gets the feeling that she wouldn't have even done that much if not for the mad race for the key. 

He's gone from trusting her implicitly to not trusting her at all in an instant. And what's worse is that he can't tell if it's because she's been keeping her involvement in his world secret or whether it's because she's a _hexenbiest_. His memories of Adalind are fresh, and no matter how bad a detective it makes him that he paints them all with the same brush, he can't entirely suppress the instinctive reaction.

They settle into a tense truce, forced by circumstances to work together, but he can't stop picturing the tall, willowy brunette morphing into a monster before his eyes. And he can't help but wonder when he'll see her monster's face again.

 

**2**

He's standing in front of the suspect, handcuffed to the table and looking as smug as he's ever seen a _skalengeck_ look, wishing he could go all Grimm on him, beat the confession out of him, but what would be the point? The guy's smug for a reason: selling J isn't a crime. To humans, it's a nice herbal concoction that tastes good in tea and does a halfway-decent job of seasoning chicken. To a wesen, it's crack on steroids, and there's been an epidemic of ODs with no end in sight.

But none of that matters to his perp, because he knows there's nothing Nick can do to him. Within the law, anyway. And by arresting him, he's basically given up the Grimm option. No one would believe the asshole just happened to die in his cell from unknown causes. 

Nick pinches his nose, knowing he's backed into a corner and not liking it one bit. He's just about to reach for his keys, intent on unlocking the cuffs and turning the guy loose before he changes his mind about the Grimm thing (even though the guy did flinch when he'd realized what Nick is—or what else he is, anyway—he'd gone right back to being smug, which had pissed Nick off and almost made him off the asshole anyway. Just on principle).

The door opening behind him stops him with his hand in his pocket, fingers brushing the keys. When he turns, he sees the Captain, mask in place, carrying a folder and looking like nothing more than his polite superior. Nick doesn't flinch, but it's close. He hasn't been in close quarters with her in months, not since the fight at the cabin, and even though she's perfectly in control, he can still see her other face. He dips his head sheepishly, rubbing at his neck as he says, "Captain."

"Detective," she says, nodding at him. She turns her attention to the perp and gives a smile that's all teeth and no warmth. "Why don't you give me and your friend here a few minutes?"

Nick looks between the perp and his Captain. Martinvale is still looking smug, and Renard is unreadable. He shrugs internally, figuring she's welcome to give it a go. She probably won't get any farther than he has.

"Sure," he says. "I'll just be outside."

He turns and leaves, slipping into the observation room as the door gives a quiet click behind him. Hank's standing at the window, watching their Captain set the file down on the table and hitch her hands on her hips.

"You've been a naughty boy, Stanley," she says, voice cold as ice.

Martinvale snorts. "Yeah, I've been selling _herbs_ to folks looking for a little spice in their lives. You can't arrest me for that."

"True," she says, shrugging as if it means nothing. "But that's not all you've been doing in my Protectorate, is it?"

Now Martinvale's looking distinctly uncomfortable, squirming a little in his seat before he settles his face back into that smug mask he's been wearing. "You're still a cop, Your Highness. You can't do shit to me."

"I think you'll find there's a great deal I can do to you, Stanley," she says, low and dangerous. 

Hank snorts beside him. "Asshole doesn't seem to realize who he's dealing with."

"He knew I was a Grimm and it didn't faze him," Nicks says, shrugging. "Doesn't seem like a very smart guy."

They watch as the Captain leans over the table, placing her hands right beside Martinvale's; the cuffs rattle as he tries unsuccessfully to back away. He's looking less and less smug, as if he's just now figured out that he's in real trouble. But then, just like that, he's back to being smug, though it lacks the conviction of earlier.

"See, here's my problem, Stanley," Renard says, just inches from Martinvale's face. "We searched your place and found a bit more than just some fancy herbs." 

She pulls back, opening the folder and turning it so the perp can see what's inside. She jabs her finger at the page, and just like that, she's woged, her _hexenbiest_ face on full display. It's both fascinating and terrifying, and Nick can't help it. He flinches. His only consolation is Hank flinching right beside him.

"Did she just…?" Hank asks, unable to take his eyes away from the scene playing out in front of them.

"Yeah, she did," Nick says. 

It's the first time he's ever seen her do that—woge in full sight of anyone in the precinct—and he knows it's in no small part due to the fact that both Nick and Hank know who she really is. She trusts them, or else she would never have done it. Nick's not sure whether he should be honored or well and truly freaked out that he's in the inner circle of a _hexenbiest_.

Nick tunes back in just in time to hear her land the blow that'll give them what they need to lock up Martinvale for a good long time.

"…heroin cut with J, or J cut with heroin." Renard stands to her full height, crossing her arms over her chest and looking down her nose at him in that way only royals can get away with. She's shifted back now, looking like nothing so much as a woman scorned, which is even more unsettling. "Which is it, Stanley?"

Martinvale stutters and stammers, his eyes darting around the room as if he's looking for the exit, any exit. Renard slams her hand down on the file, making Martinvale jump and tipping his chair over. He's sitting on the floor, his hands still chained to the table and babbling incomprehensibly, and Nick can't hold back the laughter, though he covers his mouth to at least stifle the giggles somewhat. Hank's no better, pressing his lips together, practically crying he's trying so hard not to laugh.

By this time, Renard has moved around the table and is hauling Martinvale back into his chair. He's trying to stay out of her reach at the same time he's letting her help, and it's a neat trick. It's clear he gets how much trouble he's in, finally. There's just the matter of the paperwork, now.

"As your Regent, it's within my rights to have you executed," she says, still every inch the royal. "I should turn you over to my Grimm and be done with it."

Nick winces, because he's not her Grimm, or anyone else's, but he gets how it looks because he works for her. Since they've called a truce, it benefits both of them to be seen working together. Doesn't mean he has to like it, and he sees Hank cut him a glance. He keeps his mask firmly in place, though. He's not going to be the one to rock the boat. 

Martinvale's pale now, trembling in real fear. "I'll confess," he says, voice shaking. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. Just—don't let him have me."

Renard smiles, but it's hard and cold. "Just what I was hoping to hear, Stanley. I'm glad you're seeing things my way."

And just like that, she strides out of the room. Martinvale practically collapses in his chair, resting his head on his bound hands. He might be sobbing; Nick can't tell, and he's not going in there to find out.

He heads for the door, Hank on his heels. When he emerges, the Captain is standing there, watching as a uniform takes him for processing.

"Nicely done, Captain," Hank says. He's still a little wary, but Nick's glad Hank knows what's going on. It makes life so much easier when he doesn't have to keep track of the lies, and doesn't have to explain moments like the one they just witnessed.

"Thank you, Detective," she says, giving a more genuine smile this time.

"You don't think that was a risk?" Nick asks, because he has to ask. Showing the _skalengeck_ her true face might have repercussions down the road that they can't predict.

Renard shrugs. "He's so scared right now, I doubt he's really processed what he's seen. Besides, who'd believe him? His reputation is built on being untouchable by anyone, including me. If he told even one person that he'd let a _hexenbiest_ intimidate him into giving up his operation, he'd never live it down. Literally."

"I hate wesen politics," Hank says.

He isn't the only one.

 

**3**

He'd like to say he's surprised when Adalind Schade blows back into town, but he's not, not really. Adalind reacts to power the way a moth does to a flame. And apparently, despite the fact that Captain Renard's brother is the one with the Old World power, Adalind is just too much of a bitch to not rock whatever boat she happens to be in. Which is why she's back in Portland instead of cooling her heels in Vienna with Eric.

Nick could have told them, if they'd only asked.

And in addition to skulking back into town with her proverbial tail (unless _hexenbiester_ actually do have tails, and if they do, Nick doesn't want to know about it) between her legs, she's come back fully restored. 

Nick really doesn't want to know how that happened.

He does, unfortunately, have a front row seat when Adalind "runs into" her former master, because of course he does. They're grabbing coffee at the Starbuck's down the street from the precinct, but there's no way he thinks it's a coincidence that Adalind just _happens_ to be there on the right day at the right time. She's not stupid, nor does she do anything without a plan. He's seen that firsthand. So, he follows them through the back door and into the alley, out of sight of anyone who might get curious.

He's observant enough to know that she was jealous of the way her Regent protected the unsuspecting Grimm, as if Nick had actually asked to be protected, much less kept in the dark about any of it. And it's clear that, though months have passed, she's not any less pissed than she was when she left town the last time.

Nick doesn't blame her, per se, for being a little pissed off at him. Or a lot, as the case may be. Because it was his fault she lost her powers in the first place, and he doesn't know what she had to do to get them back, but he's picturing bubbling cauldrons of disgusting brew and blood. Lots and lots of blood. 

But mostly, he's trying not to watch, because when two _hexenbiester_ face off, it gets ugly. In the very real, very literal sense of the word.

It's hard not to watch, though, because these women wield words like swords, and for every thrust of Adalind's, there's a parry, thrust and a little bit of blood drawn by Renard. It's a beautiful thing, despite the ugliness of it all. 

When it's all said and done, he can barely look at his Captain, but he does catch the sad, almost wistful look that passes across her face when she catches his eye. And yeah, he gets it. He does. She's beautiful, fierce and strong, and that is, apparently Nick's type (see: ex-girlfriend Juliette Silverton… thanks for that, Adalind). But he can't separate that from the _other_ , and he's not sure he ever will.

And why that bothers him is the most unsettling part of it all.

 

**4**

Fog is clinging to the ground, but it's doing nothing to obscure the one thing every cop hates: the body of a dead child.

Joggers had found the body abandoned along a nature trail in one of Portland's ubiquitous parks early that morning. Nick's just glad they saw the pink tennis shoe peeking out from the underbrush. Who knows how long the little girl might have lay there before someone found her? It's small consolation, but right now it's all he has to hold on to.

Nick hates this type of call out, and it's only made worse by the fact that it's Sunday morning—far too early on a Sunday, at that—and he's supposed to be enjoying a day off. But when your boss calls and requests you specifically, you bolt down the coffee you were trying to enjoy and grab your keys. 

He doesn't think this is wesen-related, or at least he hasn't seen any outward signs of that yet anyway, but then again, his first ever wesen-related case hadn't seemed wesen-related, either, and everyone knows how that one turned out. Still, Nick knows there are plenty of creatures—human and otherwise—that like to prey on little children. He only hopes there's enough evidence still left on the body to point to whoever did this.

He can see the Captain, standing off to one side, watching the coroner's office prepare the body for transport. Her expression is complicated, one part cold anger, one part abject misery, and plenty of professional helplessness thrown in for good measure. She hadn't had to come out to the crime scene; no one would have blamed her if she'd just called her detectives and then gone back to bed. But she's right there with the rest of them, and he has to respect that about her. Nick's only glad that Hank has taken the weekend off. There's no need for both of them to have nightmares over this.

The coroner must have finished with the body while he was woolgathering, because he can see them guiding the gurney along the rutted path to the van parked nearby, it's lights casting garish shadows among the trees. Renard is still standing in the same spot, seemingly rooted there, and Nick picks his way along, mindful of the evidence markers the CSIs have littered the ground with.

"You okay?" he asks when he gets close enough.

Renard takes a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm her. He watches her struggle for a moment before she woges, her features twisting into a rictus of anger and hate for just an instant before they resolve back into the Captain's calm façade once more. Nick cringes, but manages to keep it off his face. This time, he can totally relate to the feeling; he even finds himself wishing for some way to express the sentiment he shares with her. It's… odd.

"I just can't figure out why someone would do this to a little child."

He could say something about the person being less than human—whether or not it's a wesen, the truth is the same—or he could say that only the weak prey on the weak, but they're platitudes, and that's not what she needs. He reaches out and lays a hand on her arm, the one that, just moments ago, was desiccated and decayed; now it's healthy and glowing with the residual tan that the spring's warmer days have brought. He looks into her eyes, holding back the Grimm by sheer force of will.

"We live in a sick world," he tells her, "one we will never understand, because we aren't like that. That little girl matters to us in a way she didn't to her killer, and that makes us better than he is. We'll use that, turn it into the strength we need to get the job done and put this bastard where he belongs. In prison or in the ground."

"I vote for the ground," Renard grinds out. For just an instant, he sees the flash of anger in her eyes and wonders if she's going to woge again, but it passes and she seems to collect herself, standing taller, looking him in the eyes.

"Thank you, Detective," she says, soft and sure. Gratitude has replaced the anger, and even though he knows he didn't need to tell her any of that, he also knows sometimes it's important to hear it nonetheless.

"Anytime," he says. He squeezes her arm once, then drops his hand away.

He takes a small step back, and he can feel the world shifting subtly around him. It's not much, and when he looks at her, he can see she felt it too. There's something there now that wasn't there before, a newfound trust building out of the remnants of their shared past. He quirks an eyebrow at her, but she merely lifts her own eyebrow, a slight smile tipping her lips. She nods then, in that regal way that speaks of her heritage, then steps around him, only pausing to squeeze his arm in a ghost of his own gesture.

When Nick turns around, he sees her moving to talk to the uniforms gathered at the perimeter, the ones who'd been first on the scene. She looks every inch the Captain now, as though the last few minutes never happened. But they did, and Nick can still feel the ghost of her touch on his arm.

Well, damn.

 

**5**

There are eight of them this time.

Eight hostile, fearless, blood-thirsty _hundjager_ , surrounding him in a back alley in a scene straight out of a noir film. He has to give the royals and the verrat credit: they've learned from their past mistakes. They're not sending his executioners in ones and twos anymore; they're sending groups, squads, next thing you know they'll be sending whole legions of foot soldiers all with the same goal: kill the Grimm.

He has to wonder when he became so important.

Not that that's critical right now, when he's facing the very real prospect of dying. He's handled everything they've thrown at him so far, but this might be too much for even his enhanced Grimm abilities to handle. Still, if he has to go down, he's going down fighting. He's only glad they waited until Hank headed home. It might have been nice to have a friend with him, but Hank is no match for these guys and Nick isn't eager to consign his partner to death just because it might be nice to not die alone.

Nick sees a flicker of movement at the mouth of the alley, but the man—a priest, he thinks, judging by the flicker of a white collar caught in the streetlights—scurries away when he sees the men surrounding him. It's just as well, because Nick's not eager to see an innocent bystander killed because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And with that momentary distraction, the _hundjager_ press their attack. Nick bursts into action, fists flying and legs kicking out. He grabs whatever weapons are to hand, surprising his attackers with his speed and strength. But it won't be enough, he knows. They're not all attacking at once, only coming in twos and threes, trying to wear him down, but always, always keeping him facing the opening leading onto the street, never letting him get his back to it so he can try to back out and away from danger.

He's just dispatched his third _hundjager_ with a quick and painless twist of the head, the crack of his neck breaking loud in the quiet of the evening, when he senses movement behind him. He spins around, arm cocked and read to swing when he sees his Captain with her back to him, taking on the nearest _hundjager_. He watches in awe as she fights, her every move compact and deadly, using her attacker's size and weight against him.

Nick can feel the relief flooding through him, because now he knows he has a fighting chance. He can feel the change in the air; the _hundjager_ can sense the momentum shift, so their attacks become more brutal, less coordinated. Nick presses his advantage, dispatching another two _hundjager_ before spinning around to see if Renard needs any help.

She's got the last _hundjager_ , and it's a pretty even fight. But he knows Renard's going to win. She's precise in her blows, hitting her opponent where she knows it'll hurt most, pressing her attack until the moment she woges, taking her opponent—and Nick, who still flinches despite being quite familiar with the sight by now—off-guard. He pauses, for just a moment, but that's all she needs. She rounds on him, snapping his head back with a kick to the face. He crumples to the ground, unconscious or dead Nick can't tell, but it's clear he's no longer a threat.

He watches as Renard turns in place, surveying the scene. There are bodies everywhere, blood on the walls, on the ground, on them. Her wesen face is still showing, fierce and determined and protective, and like this, Nick thinks she's beautiful.

He blinks, wondering where in the hell that thought came from.

Her face slowly settles back into the familiar lines of his Captain, and she wipes at the blood on her mouth as she approaches him.

"You okay?"

He nods. "Yeah. Thanks." He tilts his head. "Lucky you came along when you did."

"Luck has nothing to do with it, Nick," she says, snorting.

Nick narrows his eyes, playing back the last moments before the fight began. "The priest. He's one of yours?"

"I have eyes everywhere. You should know that by now." 

She smiles, then winces when it pulls at the cut on her lip. He looks her over, taking note of the impressive collection of cuts and bruises she's acquired. He probably looks just as bad. He knows her wesen heritage will allow her to heal faster than a human could, but for just a moment, he's sad that her beauty will be marred for even the few days it takes to heal.

He watches her eyes narrow, as if she's able to read the thoughts parading through his head. It's… disconcerting, to say the least, but he couldn't look away even if he tried. He shakes his head, forcing himself to turn around and survey the mess they've made, as if that will distract him from how very much he wants to kiss her right now.

"So," he says, then has to clear his throat to get his voice to work right. "What do we do with these guys?"

"My people will take care of them," Renard says.

He glances back at her, but she's wearing that impenetrable mask again, the one where he can't read what she's thinking. 

"That might not have been the smartest thing, throwing in with me," he says, for lack of anything better to say. They've had this conversation before; he can't say he understands her reasons any better now than he has in the past.

"They came after you in my city," she says, voice brittle with anger. He turns to look at her, but she's holding back her wesen side admirably. "There are consequences when they do so without my leave. I plan to send them back to their master as a warning. Something I'm sure you can understand."

She raises her eyebrow at him, and he blushes, ducking his head to recover himself. Yeah, he understands. Not long ago, he sent his own warning. Didn't do much good, but at least they know now what to expect.

"Come on," she says now, walking over to him and taking his arm, guiding him towards the street just as two black SUVs and black sedan roll up to the mouth of the alley.

Adalind emerges from the sedan, polished and pressed in her business suit. She smirks at him, but otherwise doesn't give him the time of day as she takes her orders from her Regent. When she's done giving orders, Renard guides him to her car, opening the passenger door and waiting for him to get in.

"Wait, what about—"

"Adalind will see to your truck," she says. She raises that damnable eyebrow again, waiting for him to get with the program.

Okay, so he's going with her, wherever she's going. He can do that. He owes her for saving his ass, after all.

 

**+1**

Nick is standing in the living room of Renard's—Siobhan's; she'd told him to call her by her first name somewhere between the second and fifteenth floor—condo, admiring the view of Portland laid out before him as he sips some of the best whiskey he's ever had from a cut-glass tumbler. 

This is not where he'd thought he'd end up after the fight. He'd expected some wesen clubhouse (and yeah, he can admit he might be spending a little too much time with the _eisbiber_ ) or a gathering place in one of the city's massive greenbelts. He hadn't expected to end up in his Captain's condo, sipping her whiskey and enjoying her view.

Some days, his life defies explanation.

She'd excused herself right after she'd poured his drink, presumably to clean up a bit. In addition to the cuts and bruises, her suit had taken a little damage. Nothing much, just a couple of rips and a blood stain that probably belonged to a _hundjager_ , but he can understand how she might not want to wander around her home looking like she'd just come out of a massive fight, even if that's what she'd actually done.

Which leaves Nick with time to think, and that's probably the last thing he needs. It's unsettling enough to realize that he wanted to kiss his boss in the immediate aftermath of the fight. But standing here alone in her home, he's realizing that it wasn't just the post-fight adrenaline fueling that thought. He wants to kiss her. Still.

Apart from how inappropriate wanting to kiss his boss (wanting to do a helluva lot more than kiss her, if he's being honest) is, not giving a flying fuck about the _hexenbiest_ living within her is at least more than a little unsettling. Add to that the roles they play in Portland—she the Regent and he the Grimm—and the ground just keeps getting more and more unstable underneath him.

But he doesn't know how to switch this off, and the hell of it is that he's not sure he wants to. For as dangerous as she is, Siobhan is a remarkable woman, full of confidence and passion, and Nick is aware of how rare it is to find a woman like that. He also knows that it could all blow up in his face, but that he'll regret it for perhaps the rest of his life if he doesn't take the chance now.

He catches movement in the reflections in the window, a shapeless shadow that resolves into his boss the closer she moves to him. She's cradling her own tumbler full of amber liquid as she settles beside and slightly behind him. He lets his gaze travel over her reflection, aware as he does that the slight smile on her face means she knows what he's doing. He does it anyway.

She's softer, somehow, like this. Dressed in yoga pants and a t-shirt that's slightly too large, she's no longer the intimidating Captain. He can still see the confidence and power, but they're somehow muted this way, banked in favor of allowing him to see the human underneath.

He snorts. Well, when he says human…

Her smirk says she knows where his thoughts have gone, and she finds them amusing instead of insulting. 

They stand there staring at each other through the reflections in the glass, a silent debate going on between them. He knows what he wants, but he also knows it's not the smartest thing in the world to want it. But in the muted reflection in the window, he can also see that she wants the same thing. All that remains is the taking. Or not. At this moment, he doesn't know which way it'll go, and neither of them seems willing to break the silence to hash it out.

Until the moment when they turn to each other as if they've read each other's minds, and slide into an embrace that feels completely natural despite the fact that they've never done this before. His lips slide over hers, his tongue caressing her lips until they part beneath his and then it's all heat and passion and there are sensations bursting across his nerves like fireworks on the 4th of July.

Somehow—and he'll never be quite sure how—they manage to find their way to the couch, tumblers and clothing abandoned along the way until they're gloriously naked together. Nick can't stop touching all that beautiful skin, so he doesn't even try, just sets out to caress every inch of her with fingers and lips and tongue.

To his delight, Siobhan's no wallflower. She keeps interrupting his exploration of her skin with her own tour of his body. She has a wicked tongue—a fact he thinks he should have known, somehow—which she puts to good use, and it's all he can do to keep himself from coming like a teenager when she wraps that mouth of hers around his length and gives a good suck. He can feel his toes curling, the pleasure rolling through him in waves, but just when he thinks he's going to tip over the edge, she pulls back, smirking at the scowl he aims her direction.

She crawls up his body, settling over his hips and leaning down to kiss him. He can taste himself on her, which has never been a turn-on until now, and he knows without having to understand why that he'll be spoiled for any other woman after this. When she pulls back, she's wearing the most wicked smile he's ever seen. Nick shivers in anticipation.

"I'm going to woge," she says, her voice a low purr that sends shivers up and down his spine, "when I come. You need to know that."

Weeks ago, days ago, hell maybe even hours ago, those words would have made him flinch. But right now, all he can think about is the moment right after the fight was over, when she wore her _hexenbiest_ face and all he could think about was how fierce, how _beautiful_ she looked. It's in that moment that he knows he'll be alright.

He cups her cheek with his palm. "And you'll still be just as beautiful as you are right now."

Her eyes widen for a moment, as if she can't believe he just said what he said. Hell, he's not sure why he even said it, but it seemed like the right thing to do. She bends down and takes his lips in a searing kiss, and he lets her take, as much as she wants. Then she pulls back and takes his cock in hand, settling over him and pushing down in one long move.

He throws his head back, noises he hardly recognizes as his own slipping through his tightly-clenched teeth. The pleasure is almost unbearable. He knows he's not going to last long, and he'd be embarrassed about that except that when he opens his eyes, Siobhan is just as affected as he is. There's sweat sparkling on her brow; her face is twisted in a rictus of pleasure, and she hasn't even moved yet.

When she does finally start moving, he forces his eyes open, needing to see her, all of her, no matter how difficult it will be. He can't stop his hands from wandering her skin, caressing and stroking, giving as much pleasure as he can even as he derives pleasure from the feel of skin on skin. His hips start moving of their own accord, falling easily into the give and take as if they've been doing this all along.

Siobhan's eyes are closed, her head thrown back as she keens at the pleasure building between them. Nick can't help it, murmuring _you're beautiful_ over and over and over. He can feel his orgasm building, starting in his toes and spreading through his body, but he doesn't want to tip over that edge alone. His caresses become more purposeful, hands skating over every sensitive spot he can find.

But it's when his fingers brush over her clit that her rhythm falters. She snaps her head forward, eyes glowing with an inner fire he can feel licking at him like a tangible thing. And then, almost without warning, he feels his orgasm roar through him, bowing his body off the couch with the force of it. He fights to keep his eyes open, watching for the moment when she tips over that edge herself.

When it happens, he can hardly believe what he's seeing. Instead of the monster's face he'd been expecting, it's as if a light that's been hidden within her bursts through her skin, whiting out the room. Her eyes glow, her skin glows, her very being glows with this inner light that takes his breath away. 

She's beautiful like this. Beautiful, in a way he hadn't expected and doesn't understand. 

She collapses onto his chest, and he pulls her close, wrapping her in his arms, caressing her skin as she comes down from the pleasure. There are questions swirling through his mind, a jumble of words and images that he can't make sense of and can't shut off. But he stays silent. Somehow, blurting out any of it now seems juvenile and crass.

At length she begins to stir, pressing her lips into his chest. He's still buried deep inside her, so when she pushes up onto her elbows to look into his eyes, she clenches around him, drawing a shiver out of him as the residual pleasure spikes once more. 

He reaches up, tucking her hair back behind one ear so he can see her face better. She's smiling at him, a sweet, tender smile, so unlike the smiles she brings out at work. Nick feels somehow privileged that he's the one seeing this side of her. It's that thought that brings him back to the present.

"What did you see?" Siobhan asks him before he can even finish forming the thought.

"You," he says, aware of the cliché of his words but uncaring. "I saw you."

"Mmmmm," she hums, her smile turning knowing. "You did, didn't you?"

She leans down and presses a slow, sweet kiss to his lips before settling down on his chest again. He knows they'll have to move soon; it's going to get uncomfortable long before it gets cold, but he's too content to move.

He circles his arms around her once again, carding his hands through her tousled hair as he contemplates the implications of what just happened. He knows it isn't only because he's a Grimm. If that were the case, he thinks he'd have seen this long before now. 

The only other explanation that makes sense is that he's come to a point where he only sees the woman she is and not the creature under the surface. The wesen isn't who she is, it's what she is, and maybe he finally understands that, has learned to separate the two. It makes him wonder if this will happen with other wesen. The thought of Monroe glowing the way Siobhan was a few minutes ago makes him nearly choke on his own spit.

"Stop thinking," the woman in question says, dropping another kiss on his chest as she stretches out over him.

"We should probably get cleaned up," he says instead. If she knows him at all, she'll know he can't just turn it off. He can think of more than a few ways for her to distract him, and when she pushes back up onto her elbows, her smirk tells him she knows just where his thoughts have gone.

"Come on," she says, rising gracefully and reaching out a hand to him.

He takes it, squeezing her hand as he pushes himself off the couch. "Mind if I stay?"

"You'd better," she says. She turns, swaying her hips as she moves through the condo, headed for the bedroom, he presumes. When she reaches the door, she turns, casting a sultry look his way. "I'm not done with you yet."

"Yes, ma'am," Nick murmurs as he follows her.

He still has questions; there are still things about this that don't make sense, but he's content to let it rest for the time being. For tonight, he has a beautiful woman in his arms and the whole night to explore her. 

He doesn't plan to waste a moment.

~Finis

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to work in some sort of reference to the Hans Christian Andersen story, _The Ugly Duckling_ (like maybe the title), because that was the inspiration for this story. Alas, I was listening to the radio when I was about halfway through writing this, when "You're So Vain" started playing, and Muse latched on to it. /shrugs/ It still works.


End file.
